


Bowl Me Over and Strike Me Down

by HazzilyEverAfter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crush at First Sight, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Help I have no idea what I'm doing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really know what else, I hope you like it x, M/M, Pining, Should I leave it as a one-shot or write more?, Tags May Change, This is the first time I've posted anything, please tell me what you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazzilyEverAfter/pseuds/HazzilyEverAfter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis works at a 24-hour bowling alley, basically lives to shine bowling balls, spends his spare time asking strangers for shoe sizes, and has no interest whatsoever in bowling or anything even remotely related.</p>
<p>He honestly doesn’t understand what happened to his life.</p>
<p>Until one day, a curly-haired boy with doe eyes and Bambi legs walks into the establishment and bowls Louis over. Metaphorically. </p>
<p>…And, come to think of it, also quite literally.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>A Bowling Alley AU because there aren’t nearly enough of those. Obviously. (Or maybe nobody writes them for a reason. In which case, my sincerest apologies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bowl Me Over

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys...
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever posted on Ao3! It's ridiculously fluffy and light, with no real plot yet. I'm not really sure what to think of it, or whether I should keep it just as a simple one-shot or make it chaptered. I do have a few ideas for a longer storyline, though. Feel free to leave your opinion in the comments.
> 
> Anyways, just have a read, and hopefully you like it.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me! x

It’s 11:07pm on a Friday night, and Louis is polishing a fuchsia-coloured bowling ball whilst mourning his currently non-existent night-life. 

Because, contrary to what Niall says, sitting bored behind a counter secretly playing Flappy Bird when he’s not busy pulling out pairs of identical, hideously shaped, and not to mention foul smelling pairs of shoes so that customers can try on, complain about, and hand back, only for the cycle to begin again, is not his definition of a fulfilling night-life. He’s just wondering how his life spiralled so out of control so god-dammed quickly, because he honestly doesn’t understand how he got here. One minute he was at Uni, sharing a flat with Zayn and bathing in the success that was his life, and the next, he’s working at some fancy, 24-hour bowling centre, with only half his degree completed and desperate for money because his mum is struggling to pay the bills back home.

Louis finally decides that the offensively-coloured bowling ball is shiny enough, and quickly checks his reflection on it before placing it back on it’s rack. He’s not vain, Jesus – he’s not Zayn. To his dismay, his quiff has wilted considerably, and his face is all funny in the mirror image – kind of like he’s been bloated out of proportion, so much so that he can barely recognise himself anymore. His left eye bulges at three times the size of his right one, and when he tilts the ball to try and balance it out, all he gets in return is his other eye being three times bigger instead, and a lopsided face.

Louis wonders if it’s a metaphor for his life.

Sighing, he returns back to the reception, throwing himself into the chair without looking because he knows it’ll be there to catch him. Louis can’t help but think that the chair is currently the only one guaranteed to do so. Which he mentally berates himself for, after, because that’s not fair. That’s not fair to Zayn, or Niall, or Liam, who he knows tries their hardest to be there for him, and do enough, but can never truly help him. He surveys the mostly empty establishment, and sighs in contentment when it looks like everything is in order, and he doesn’t need to lift himself off of his bum. Good. He’s not sure he’d be able to, anyway.

“Oi, Tommo, get yer arse off’a ya seat!”

Louis was wrong. Niall isn’t there for him at all. “But Niaaaaaall,” he pouts. “I’m comfortable here.”

“Too bad, mate. Come help Zayn in the back room, I needa see’ta the party room – clean it up if there’s leftover rubbish,” Niall cocks his head, “Or, ya’know, cake. Hopefully there’s leftover cake.”

Louis groans, and mentally counts down from three. “Fine, give me a second.”

He finally manages to lift himself up (don’t look at him like that. It’s hard, because his bum is so spectacular that it shouldn’t be denied anything), and makes his way into the back room, slapping Niall on the shoulder as he passes. “Keep an eye on the reception for me, won’t you?”

He’s just closing the door behind him as he hears Niall’s “Yeah, course,” smiling to himself as he sees Zayn, his back facing Louis as he stacks boxes of bowling shoes in such a vindictive manner that Louis would think they’d personally offended him, if he didn’t know for a fact that most definitely had. By simply existing. Louis still hates them more, though. They’ve had this argument before.

“Hey, Zayn.”

Zayn must not have heard him come in, because he turns so fast that Louis is afraid he gave himself whiplash, before realising that oh, wait – Zayn is incapable of doing that, because he’s perfect, and has sculpted cheekbones, and a chiselled jawline, and is a Greek God, and Greek Gods don’t get whiplash. Like, ever. Not that Louis would ever admit any of that out loud. Zayn would never let him live it down, and he’d be reminded of what he made the mistake of saying every single day for the rest of his life, even if Zayn had to send a carrier pigeon to do it.

“Hey, Lou. You wanna help?” Zayn offers, before rethinking his words. “No, wait. You have to help, because I don’t wanna do this alone. It’s boring, and I’d much rather be telling you all about Liam moving in last weekend.”

Louis rolls his eyes, because he’s heard all this before. Zayn had called him on Sunday evening, the one day he has off, to recount the entire event, from the moment Liam stepped into his flat in his sneakers and tank top looking like perfection, only much better (Zayn’s words, not his), to when they’d finally unpacked all his boxes, placing his useless junk (Louis’s words, not Zayn’s) next to Zayn’s useless junk on the mantelpiece. It was an emotional moment, apparently. Not that Louis is against emotional moments – he’s just against the same emotional moments being repeated to him over and over again. There’s a difference, Louis thinks.

“Yeah, nah. I’d much rather you didn’t.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but grudgingly obliges. He returns to stacking boxes, and there’s a comfortable silence that lingers in the air of old friends being satisfied with just standing next to each other, sharing the same space. It’s quite a beautiful feeling, Louis admits.

Until Zayn breaks it, the tosser. “Hey, Lou. I was thinking. Since I moved out of yours,” to replace me with Liam, Louis doesn’t say, “We haven’t seen each other as much. So I was wondering if—“

“HEY, TOMMO! THERE’S SOMEONE AT’THA FRONT DESK!”

Louis rolls his eyes, and practically shoves the boxes he’d been holding into Zayn’s hands. “Sorry, mate. We’ll talk later, yeah? Duty calls.”

Zayn pouts at this, and Louis marvels at how he can pull it off for a second, because Greek Gods don’t have the right facial structures to pull off pouts. It’s probably why Louis’s befriended a Zayn, though. They’re even better than Greek Gods.

Louis takes a step back, then two, and opens the door back up again. “Don’t pull that face. It’ll get stuck there, and then Liam will leave you for me.” He winks, and closes the door on Zayn’s sulking face.

As he makes his way to the front desk, he sees that Niall was indeed right. There’s a man waiting at the reception, and he’s got his back to Louis, but even so Louis can tell that the man’s young, and tall, with legs that go on for miles and a mop of curly hair atop his head. He has tattoos, and is wearing skinny jeans, and seems to shift around on his feet that are turned inwards, and he has the potential, Louis thinks, the potential to being a very handsome lad indeed. Louis thinks of chiselled jawlines and killer cheekbones, of refined bone structure and slight scruff around the chin, of showing off to Zayn because he’d pulled one of his kind – a Greek God - and Louis speeds up his steps to reach him quicker. And if he tries to fix his quiff on the way there, nobody but him has to know.

As he reaches the desk and is brushing past the maybe-Greek-God to get to his area behind the counter, the guy suddenly turns and runs straight into Louis. They knock together with a dull thump, and Louis manages to catch himself on the clumsy-maybe-Greek-God’s shoulder just in time to prevent himself landing rather ungracefully on the floor. When he finally catches his breath and lets go of the shoulder he’s still gripping, Louis looks up. And promptly wants to off himself with a blunt spoon (Liam would approve, hah, and oh, wow, he seems to be going slightly hysterical) while at the same time laugh himself into the hospital for being so, dead wrong, because the person he’s faced with definitely can’t be described as a Greek God. He has wide, green-green-god-so-green eyes, quite a round face, and sinfully plump, pink lips. 

“Oops,” is what ends up leaving those lips, which Louis realises he’s still staring at.

Louis blinks, and forgets that he’s meant to be talking. The probably boy-not-man blinks back, and wow, is it possible to blink so slowly, or has Louis mastered the art of slowing down time? No, Louis thinks. if Zayn’s a Greek God, then this man-child’s a cross between a cherub and Bambi. Louis thinks he’s okay with that. In fact, Louis thinks Greek Gods are overrated, anyways. Louis thinks he much prefers cherub-like-Bambi’s.

“Hi,” he finally manages to wrangle out.

And then Bambi-the-cherub smiles, and Louis doesn’t think at all. His brain short circuits, because god, Bambi-cherub-man-child has dimples. What. Maybe his name should be dimpled-man-child-cherub-Bambi instead. The dimples are like craters, and Louis has never wanted to poke something more in his life.

“Hiiiiii. M’name’s Harry. I’m here to bowl, but it seems like you’ve already beaten me to it.”

At Louis’s confused head-tilt, because he wasn’t the one who ran into him, thank-you-very-much, not-actually-Bambi-dimple-cherub-but-Harry shuffles a bit, and with a goofy, bashful grin, clarifies himself.

“You’ve beaten me to it, because your beauty has already bowled me over.”

And, what. Louis thinks that somewhere in the back of his mind he’s doubting Harry’s existence, but all he can concentrate on right now is help, because his jaw has just officially hit the ground, and he can’t, for the life of him, remember how to pick it back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main [Tumblr](https://hazzilyeverafter.tumblr.com/) and my side blog for [One Direction](https://hazzilyeverafter-onedirection.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading, I love you all.


	2. Louis Meets Nick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry seems nice (if a bit like a dork). Louis likes him.
> 
> Nick, however… Well.
> 
> Let’s just say that Louis doesn’t like Nick.
> 
> Nick the Dick. Nick the Prick.
> 
> Hah.
> 
> Louis is a genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second chapter!!
> 
> I wasn't actually going to update so soon, but I got bored and started writing this. It's quite short, only 600 words or so.
> 
> I'm going to write more before posting them from now on I think, so hopefully next time I update, the chapters will be longer and way more interesting.
> 
> I still hope you enjoy, though! Feel free to leave comments on your opinion of this fic. x
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this fanfic are based on real people, but aren't actually, and nothing that happens in my story is real - it's just a piece of fiction that I made up.

“Uh.”

Louis manages to form a sound with his tongue seemingly stuck down his throat, so he counts it as a feat.

Because, no. No no no no no. This guy – Harry – cannot possibly have introduced himself with a pickup line.

Louis is in denial of his existence.

“Uhhhhhh.”

How should he introduce himself? It depends on whether Harry’s straight and in a relationship: ‘Oh, hi! I’m Louis, but you can just call me “Best Mate”’, straight and single: ‘I’m Louis – and don’t knock it till you try it!’, gay and in a relationship: ‘My name’s Louis… it’s French. My dearest Harold, are you certain that you’re satisfied with your current boyfriend?’, gay and single: ‘I’m Louis, and did you just sit in a pile of sugar? Because you’ve got a pretty sweet ass’, or a completely unhinged psychopath: ‘Hi, my name is irrelevant. If you’re going to hurt me then please hurry up, but leave my face intact. It’s my unique selling point.’

He settles with, “Oh, uh, right. I’m Louis.” At Harry’s slightly disappointed look, Louis can’t help but add “And that was the worst attempt at striking up a conversation that I’ve ever heard.”

Harry grins, both dimples popping out.

“Heeeeey. Don’t be mean, I think it was brilliant.”

Louis is just about to lean in and tell him that no, it wasn’t brilliant, it was the worst way anyone had ever introduced themselves to him with, and he’s been on the receiving end of many, many, _many_ puns.

Before he can, though, someone clears their throat behind Harry, startling them both out of the trance that they’d unknowingly fallen into.

It’s a tall man with a quiff, and Louis instantly hates him. Hates him and his stupid ugly mug of a face, and the way he’s touching Harry’s shoulder. Harry instantly leans into him, too, and _right_.

Even more reason to hate him.

“Harold, have you booked our lane yet?”

And he completely ignores Louis, which gives Louis even more reason to think that this is the most hateable man on to have ever walked the planet. Fuck him. Seriously, _fuck him_.

Except, _no_. Louis doesn’t make habits of fucking the most hateable people ever to exist.

“Hi, Nick! And oh, no, oops.” Harry turns back to face Louis. “Hey, do you mind sorting out a lane or two for us? Sorry, I know it’s late.” And how can Louis stay annoyed at anything when Harry is smiling at him like that?

“Yeah, of course.” He finally rounds the bench, and he feels the loss of Harry’s proximity like a fish feels the loss of water.

And, _what_. There’s a very real possibility that Louis has gone completely off the deep end. The deep end, _hah_! The deep end, a pool, water, fish, _get_ it?

Louis should go and see a mental health specialist. In the meantime, he looks behind Harry and _Nick_ , with his arm _still_ around Harry’s shoulder, and is surprised to find a rather large group of people gathered near some empty lanes. He guesses they’re Harry’s friends.

He makes quick work of organising the details to their game, and the smile Harry flashes him as he walks off is causing his stomach to take up acrobatics.

Only he’s too focussed on the way Harry’s leaning into Nick to really think about it.

They’re obviously in a relationship. Of _course_ someone like Harry wouldn’t be single, only Louis finds himself feeling bitter that he chose Nick over all the better people in the world. Like him, for example.

And although he keeps a close eye on Harry for the next few hours of his game, whenever Harry looks over at him and beams, Louis pretends not to notice.

What Louis thought was a pick-up line obviously wasn’t – Harry was just being the naturally charming guy that Louis can tell he is.

Louis tells himself that he doesn’t care.

He scrubs the counter a little viciously anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main [Tumblr](https://hazzilyeverafter.tumblr.com/) and my side blog for [One Direction](https://hazzilyeverafter-onedirection.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
